


For Those Who Wait

by elliebird



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Older Man/Younger Man, Older Woman/Younger Man, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-02 20:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13325916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliebird/pseuds/elliebird
Summary: I can't stop thinking aboutthat pictureTimmy posted the other night.





	For Those Who Wait

So much of Timothee's life since Crema has been spent waiting. His three months of idyllic Italian summer and quite literally falling into love ended abruptly with reality staring him in the face.

Principal photography was over and his life became a game of waiting, a futile exercise. He spent the late summer months back in New York, the city he’d always loved suddenly cold and colorless after the vibrant vitality of Crema. He went to casting calls and waited. He waited for Armie to text or pick up the phone, counted down the days and hours until his next chance to fly to Los Angeles, waited for updates from Luca about the film’s release date.

The fall was spent waiting for Armie to change his mind, to admit that he’d made a mistake and there wasn’t a place for an awkward theater kid ten years younger than him in his life. He waited for Elizabeth to grow tired of sharing her husband, to stop calling him just to talk and share everything from BIRD updates to Harper’s newest words.

When Elizabeth told him she was pregnant again, the wait took on a frantic feel, every call from Armie potentially the one that would end it all.

He spent three weeks at the end of 2016 in Malibu, waking up between Armie and Elizabeth, to Harper clambering up over him to pry open his eyelids and share her excitement at having another adult’s undivided attention. He went back to New York, more sexually satisfied than any other twenty-year-old and finally secure in his place with them.

The waiting took on a different shape and instead of dread it was breathless anticipation. Waiting for a Face Time call from Elizabeth, her face flushed and sweat damp as Armie ate her out. Waiting for Armie’s forty-eight hour layover in New York and not once leaving his apartment as Armie fucked him in every corner of his three hundred square feet.

Now that they’re together more often than they’re apart, the waiting is restless and tinged with impatience and breathless anticipation, counting hours and minutes until it’s the three of them alone and he can touch Armie the way he wants, give up pretending that he’s not hopelessly in love with both of them. This waiting is filthy and exciting, waiting for Armie to give him that smile that's equal parts hungry and filthy and touch his hip, roll him to his stomach or guide him to straddle his hips and seat himself on Armie's thick cock, somehow too deep and not deep enough all at once. Waiting even though it’s been less than twelve hours since he had Armie inside him, restless and wanting like it’s been days or weeks and not mere hours. 

“To be that young again,” Armie says dryly now, looking across the narrow airplane aisle, one eyebrow arched and a dirty, knowing grin like he can hear the depravity in Timmy’s thoughts.

Timmy gives him a wide eyed stare, guileless like he isn’t half hard (again or still, impossible to tell these days), like he’d chosen to wear sweats to New York for comfort and not for the forgiveness and camouflage, as though he’s not likely to be papped coming out of the airport.

It’s nine in New York. It’ll be after one when the plane touches down, nearly two when they get to the hotel. Timmy’s tired from the whirlwind of the last few days and what he wants more than another prestigious award and public congratulations for the role that completely changed his life is to climb into Armie’s lap, fit the vee of his hand around Armie’s throat the way that gets him rock hard and riled up, and beg him to add to the load he left behind this morning while Elizabeth watched and traced her fingers where Armie split him open.

He doesn’t sleep well while flying and he’s having trouble getting comfortable. It’s always too hot on these damn planes. He’s wearing the t-shirt he pulled out of Armie’s laundry basket this morning and the smell of him is both comforting and wildly distracting. He’s sore, too, between his legs from Sunday night when Armie, drunk on champagne and egged on by the sight of Timmy with his head buried between his wife's thighs, fucked him so hard and good and deep that Timmy couldn't remember how his legs were supposed to work afterwards.

Armie's stripped down to a thin plain white t-shirt that stretches across his shoulders, a blanket pulled half over him. He’s effortlessly sexy, always at ease in his own skin. 

Everything about Armie turns him on and has since Armie first stepped out of Luca’s house in Crema in Oliver’s shorts and nothing else. The tattoo on his finger, his wedding band, the way he falls asleep with Ford on his chest during bedtime stories. They’re all pieces that remind him constantly that Armie is married with two beautiful children and somehow still _his_. 

It’s been nearly twenty months of being allowed to look at Armie, to drink him in from the tops of his long feet to the strength in his thick thighs, hair on his chest and the trail of it beneath his belly button, leading down to his cock. Twenty months of looking and touching all he wants and he’s still struck dumb by Armie in moments like this when he’s soft and sleepy and a little vulnerable and Timmy’s reminded again that he’s allowed to want him.

Elizabeth is curled up in the seat next to Armie. She has a smile he likes to think of as his, the one that makes her eyes go soft, an odd combination of delight and fondness that does as much to get him hard as Armie’s more direct, unapologetic appraisal.

They know each other’s secrets. Elizabeth doesn’t care for hair pulling or being held down but she’ll push her fingers into Timmy’s curls and whisper encouragement in his ear as he takes her husband deep in his throat. She knows that what she isn’t willing to give Armie, Timmy craves.

“We fit,” she’ll say simply when he questions what they’re doing, like it’s really that easy. She makes him believe that it can be. She’s his enabler, encouraging him with her hand in his hair or cupping his cheek, her lips pressed to the shell of his ear, her breath on his skin making him rock hard. “He’s so beautiful, Armie,” she’ll say with a low sigh.

“I know you see it that way,” Elizabeth likes to say when Timmy gets emotional after drinking too much. He’ll climb over her and thank her in all the ways he knows how for sharing her husband with him.

She’ll touch him, her hands palming his cheeks and say “we’re sharing you,” with a soft smile.

It helps for a bit until the next time he questions his place with them, whether he’s overstayed his welcome, that he’s just a kid playing at being an adult with this power couple so far out of his league.

He can't help it. He tells himself he needs to stretch his legs, but really he can’t stand even the small distance of an airplane aisle between them. He climbs out of his seat, fumbling for his phone like taking a photo is the reason and not just an excuse to be close, if only for a quick minute.

He snaps a photo he'll probably end up jerking off to next time he's in New York, counting the minutes until he’s back with Armie, Elizabeth and this found family.

“What are you going to do with that?” Armie says without opening his eyes. His voice is rough with sleep, all low and husky. There’s a hint of teasing to it - he knows exactly what Timmy does when they’re apart. It’s reckless and potentially destructive but he has a dozen photos of come cooling on his belly or smeared on his dick that he’s sent Armie after being talked to a dirty, delicious orgasm. 

The sound goes right to the center of him, deep in the pit of his stomach and blossoms outwards so that he’s flushed and hard from Armie all sleep soft and yet so fucking masculine it takes his breath away. Timmy bites his lip.

Next to Armie, Elizabeth chuckles. It’s a low sound of sympathetic understanding. Timmy looks at her helplessly.

Timmy, in his twenty young years, had been decidedly inexperienced before Armie and Elizabeth. 

“You’re so sweet and insatiable,” she’s told him before, stroking a hand down his spine where his skin is sweat soaked and he’s so sensitive that even being touched there makes him tremble. Timmy finds it ironic given her husband is always just a breath away from standing at complete attention, ready to go, to fuck Timmy into oblivion or guide Elizabeth to sit on his face.

Timmy has an apartment the size of Elizabeth’s walk in closet and it’s a given that when they’re together he sleeps with them. He’s done flying. He wants Armie to settle him in whatever ridiculously oversized bed they’ve booked in an equally ridiculously overpriced hotel, and take him apart thoroughly. If he’s lucky Elizabeth will kiss him, her fingertips on his jaw, holding him in place while he breathes into her mouth, gasping with the force of Armie’s hips slamming against his. He wants her to feed him the taste of herself from her fingers, knowing that she’s had three of them inside her while her husband’s inside him.

Elizabeth looks him over, a knowing smile that somehow looks both sweet and mischievous, like she knows exactly what he’s thinking.

He concedes that she likely does know. She knew before he did, nearly two years ago, that this is where they’d end up, that all the longing and pining Timmy was doing was mutual and she was giving him permission to want her husband.

Timmy goes back to his seat, irritated that he has to, that he can’t shove Armie’s blanket aside and make room for himself on top of him.

Armie catches him with a hand around his wrist. Timmy has been obsessed with the differences between them since the third week of filming when Armie took him to bed for real and Timmy couldn’t stop staring at their legs tangled together, thin and pale versus thick and golden. Armie’s hand with its long, thick fingers, a dusting of hair on his knuckles always reminds Timmy of all the ways their bodies are so different. He loves it, revels in it even. 

Timmy has been trying to hold onto at least a modicum of his chill since falling into this strangely perfect triangle of a relationship but there are certain things that get him instantly hard. Armie’s hand on his wrist is at the top of the list, tied with the way Armie tastes after he’s eaten Elizabeth out and watching the two of them make love with her legs wrapped around his waist and her hair fanned out on the pillows. 

Timmy goes completely still. The plane is dark – everyone around them is either sleeping, feigning sleep or attempting sleep. Armie tugs him forward. “Come here,” he says with a flash in his eyes.

Timmy bends over Armie’s seat and to any casual observer, it’s just a casual hug, two bros hugging like bros do. But Armie’s hand on the back of his neck and Timmy’s stuttered breathing give it away. Armie turns his face into Timmy’s hair, his lips against his ear, his breath warm. “Get some sleep,” he says. “When we land, I’m going to eat you out until you’re begging me to stop.”

He has a full five o’clock shadow, the whiskers rough against Timmy’s cheek when he hovers for a brief moment with his lips grazing Timmy’s skin.  
Timmy wasn’t some wide-eyed virgin when he and Armie, and then Elizabeth, started fucking, but in his time with them he’s learned a whole lot about himself and the things he likes. He’d never thought to fetishize body hair but now he knows how sexy Armie looks with Timmy’s jizz matting the hair on his chest. He likes when Armie has a full beard and teases him with it, rubbing his face between his thighs, nuzzling the sensitive skin of his underarms and leaving behind a burn that feels too good to call it that. The body hair, like the breadth of his shoulders and the muscles in his thighs, the crows feet around his eyes and the boxing scars scattered over his body like constellations are all evidence of the difference in age, experience, life between them. It doesn’t intimidate him the way it had when they first met and he’d felt suddenly naive and too young next to Armie. Instead it turns him on the way everything else about Armie, and by extension Elizabeth, does. 

Timmy’s entire body has snapped to attention, rigid with arousal and flushed. “Fuck,” he breathes, the word punched out of him like all the air in his body. He leans his forehead against Armie’s shoulder for a beat, gathering his wits. “I hate you,’ he mumbles after a beat and in a poor attempt at payback, grazes his teeth against Armie’s jaw.

The sound Armie makes is somewhat gratifying but Timmy’s rock hard now and he has at least three hours of suffering ahead of him.

Timmy straightens up and turns toward the window and Elizabeth, trying to steady his racing pulse. Elizabeth isn’t as daring, or fucking evil, as Armie. She touches him in a way that’s meant to be settling, reassuring even. He jerks away like he’s been burned and she just laughs.

He slips back into his seat scowling and willing himself soft.

He closes his eyes and practices a breathing exercise he learned in one of his theater classes at La Guardia. After several minutes he’s still hard but doesn’t feel as frantic about it.

Across the aisle, Armie’s shut off his light and Elizabeth is leaning back in her seat, reading on her iPad.

He opens Instagram and pulls up the photo he just took; Armie with his eyes closed and a peace sign thrown up, Elizabeth’s beautiful, laughing smile.

He knows what sharing the photo will do. He’s smug with the weight of his secret. No one knows the truth, no matter how they like to imagine they do. The fans will leave over enthusiastic comments with too many exclamation points and an abuse of emoji’s, inappropriate remarks and speculation but that’s all it is. The truth belongs to the three of them. 

He shares so much of himself these days now that he’s no longer a well-kept secret. This alone is his and there’s a perverse, thrilling satisfaction knowing that none of the speculation comes close to the truth. What would they say if they knew that he’s had both Armie and Elizabeth inside him, that he’s sucked the taste of Armie from between Elizabeth’s soaked thighs, that Armie is possessive and prone to jealousy but nothing makes him come harder than watching Timmy fuck his wife.

He posts it with a throwaway caption about photoshopping himself in later and clicks out of the app, imagining the furor he’s unleashed.

**Author's Note:**

> There will probably be more like this. Next up, what happens in New York. If that's your jam, I'm on [tumblr](https://elliebirdthings.tumblr.com/).


End file.
